To Be Like Clouds In The Sky
by Ciel D'or Serendipite
Summary: "If you don't get what you want, you suffer; if you get what you don't want, you suffer; even when you get exactly what you want, you still suffer because you can't hold on to it forever."


__I promise I'm actually working on stuff. In my brain. And slowly- _sluggishly_ typing stuff.

Super sorry.

Warnings: I dunno but everybody seems depressed so let's put that. If you're real sharp...you will proooobably catch some things but no spoilers, kk.

Notes: Yes, this _is_ OT3. Lightly implied, but yeah.

Read my -rainbow- gray barf.

* * *

_How ugly. _Ryoma thinks tracing the gentle slopes of his wrist, fingers gently crushing water orbs that slid against his skin.

He is standing in front of the wall mirror, naked and dripping wet; a towel has laid upon the floor, forgotten, for hours now. Ryoma's feet ache.

There are scratches, miniscule, the scabbed over lines barely darker then his tanned skin, but they are there, gross and unpleasant as ever. Oh, how he hates it, the _ugly_.

He moves, finally, placing himself on the floor to trace the tiny bumps and lumps, every imperfection, the hair on his legs, short, uneven nails, a tiny bruise, tiny red marks on the nape of his neck…a rash maybe? Acne?

He smiles and even that is not a tiny bit _near _perfection, not even the slightest bit beautiful.

His eyes are a strange amber color; they're like shards fluctuating in the light, broken pieces of a whole, trying to create something beautiful again. But the cracks are still visible.

Syuusuke's eyes are deep blue, beautiful. Kunimitsu's steady brown, perfect. And both are far, far away.

Ryoma stands again eyes glazed, he presses himself against the mirror until his legs fall, slumping to the floor painfully; he doesn't notice.

Bratty and immature, overconfident and rash, disgusting personality traits, yet they were who he was, a part of him, something everyone he knew acknowledged to be true.

His eyes closed, eyelashes pressed against his cheeks, the mirror grinding into his skin as he pushed against it harder, they would leave marks, he knew.

A smile etched itself unto his lips.

But that's alright.

He will always be trapped in the foul self that he cannot help but be.

After all, the gap is already too wide…has always been…too, much too wide.

* * *

Beauty is a word that he hates.

He is beautiful, in a chillingly disgusting way, but nevertheless beautiful. Perhaps, even the closest to beauty.

Syuusuke fingers the light brown strands of his hair, his free hand picks up a compact mirror, and he brings it to his face, staring at the deep blue eyes that were his own.

A wry smile flickers, mixing in with his usual twist of lips. Beauty is a terrifying word, he is sure of this.

Beauty is him, a faux mix of letters hiding a grotesque meaning, a meaning that cannot be found in the petty manipulated text of a dictionary. And as if in mirroring the hateful word _he_ is a twisted mass of feeling and sinful traits, a lying and vile being that hides in this exquisite form of his.

Sometimes he wonders if, perhaps, it is his own fearful hiding that traps him, drives him to the spiral of insanity, as his own distorted self strikes chaos within, not allowed to escape and wreak havoc on his beauteous shell.

He longs for the freedom that Ryoma has, the freedom to let himself _out_, and guiltily…he wishes for Kunimitsu's perfection.

But he knows, that he will forever be trapped in-between, the grotesquely beautiful self that he is destined to be.

For that, is his definition of beauty.

* * *

Strong fingers glide themselves along the smooth fabric of his shirt, not enough to tug just light touches.

Kunimitsu is perfection, something he has long strived to be, a perfect character, a perfect appearance, a perfect being.

Ever since the beginning he knew he wished to be perfect, perfection meant the top, it was always best to aim for the top, this he knew.

But he cannot help but wonder when he began to hate that word, when it began to be a fight with himself, trapped by his own heart, unable to escape from that stifling perfection.

Always in line, all straight lines and leveled curves, only allowing just the right amount; controlled.

He cannot help but feel empty like this, cannot stop the feeling of being drained of _something_, something that he feels as if he knows, but the one thing he cannot grasp.

And he has _them_, and the only days he feels fulfilled are the ones with them. But it is when he is alone, _his self_, that is empty.

He cannot help the steady feeling of jealousy, _and even this is the perfect amount_, for the both of them, Ryoma's being that cannot help but go against the lines, Syuusuke who is even and not stifled, who has both the ugly and the perfection that he longs to go back to.

But this his jail of flowing between the everlasting lines, bars.

He must stay, in the area of perfection that he has reached.

* * *

"_If you don't get what you want, you suffer; if you get what you don't want, you suffer; even when you get exactly what you want, you still suffer because you can't hold on to it forever."_

–Dan Millman

* * *

Yeah. It's kind of sad.

I don't even know okay. I was in the bathtub, _but there was a torpedo in the water. _It's probs angst, yep, feels like angst, kay bye must fill myself with fluff now, mhm.

*thisisSyandMeadosfaultijustknowgoddammityoutwo*Ha ppy I'm-over-half-a-month late anniversary to me~! :D (itotallyforgot)

Sy-I-so-copied-your-A/N-formatting-and-I'm-so-not- even-sorry–

Revieeeeeewwwww for kisses. Mwahmwah/


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